


here lies juliet (and her beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light)

by remuslupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Character-Bashing, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remuslupin/pseuds/remuslupin
Summary: in which harry & tom do “a bit of light reading.” au wherein the two are in the same year & house at hogwarts and are much happier.





	

**Author's Note:**

> GOD i've been working on this since christmas and now my birthday's almost here so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy! reviews/kudos are much appreciated.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
Doubt that the sun doth move,  
Doubt truth to be a liar,  
But never doubt I love.”  
– Polonius (Act II, Scene II - Hamlet)

* * *

It’s noon.

Or at least, it’s _around_ noon, and Harry is only aware of this because midday is the period of time during which the sun truly begins to shine directly into the Black Lake, illuminating the entire body of water in a way in which the tails of the merfolk do not (they, at best, only ever grant him a few flashes of light whenever the moonlight catches the sparse smattering of scales located throughout their bodies each night).

The Slytherin Common Room is empty, save for Harry himself-- it’s usually like this during Christmas, but he doesn’t exactly mind. In his opinion, spending his afternoons reading in the open area seems a right sight better than hiding himself away in the claustrophobic space that Dudley Dursley used to call his second bedroom, anyway.

Ultimately, no matter how vacant (or crowded), Hogwarts is Harry’s home.

Lounging about in this particular area of his home feels a bit like actually being underwater, Harry decides-- which is convenient, since he had never learned to swim. He often dreams of floating through the lake in a sort of wingless flight; especially whenever he’s at Hogwarts, and the sounds of the lake lapping at the expansive window are loud enough to lull him to sleep.

The blanket of silence, however, is soon pulled away from Harry by an insistent tapping at the glass near his head, and although he remains in his comfortable reclined position atop one of the rather expensive-looking leather couches in the common room, he turns his gaze towards the source of the noise to see a creature with fins and a tail and… Hair.

Ah-- a mermaid, then. Though sightings of the merfolk are not quite as rare as that of the giant squid that resides in the depths of the lake, Harry himself doesn’t often come across a chance to participate in such a close and personal encounter with the sea dwellers. This, consequently, is why he finds himself sitting up, foot dropping from the couch to the floor as he tucks the other beneath his leg and splays a hand across the glass with a wide-eyed sort of fascination. The book that had been resting languidly across his chest falls to the floor with a resounding thud, but the wizard pays no attention to such a trivial issue for the time being-- he has much more pressing matters to attend to.    

In turn, the mermaid presses herself so close to the makeshift window that Harry can see blue veins that branch out across her neck like spiderwebs, and when she opens her mouth to giggle at his hesitant wave, bubbles rise from her lips, seeking to make their way to the surface of the lake.

A few Slytherins had been teaching the merfolk sign language as of late, and as the mermaid begins to move her hands to form intricate symbols and gestures, Harry realises that she's trying to communicate with him in a similar fashion. Unfortunately for the both of them, however, the wizard had never bothered to pick up sign language, and the mermaid clicks frustratedly at him upon realising this before swimming away.

“Yeah, well-- it was nice seeing you, too.” Slumping defeatedly back against the couch, he lets out a rather defeated sigh, though still continues to look through the glass in the hopes of catching sight of another occupant of the lake. Perhaps he _should_ at least consider taking up sign language...

“What’s this?” A smooth voice interrupts Harry’s train of thought just as smoothly as a hand reaches forward and plucks his almost-forgotten book from the floor. He squawks in protest, reaching up to snatch the book back from the thief, only to find it being pulled away from him once more. A cheery chuckle soon reaches Harry’s ears in reply to his resulting grimace, which only prompts him to groan, reaching for a pillow to cover his face with.

“Give it back, Tom.” _Merlin_ , the boy is a menace.

“You can’t possibly be doing any readings for class,” is what Tom chooses to reply with instead, offering Harry a view of him thumbing the spine of the hardback book when he momentarily moves the pillow away from his visage. The charismatic smile that he consequently flashes Harry with upon catching him staring results in the younger boy aiming the pillow at his face. Tom bats it away with a wordless spell and a raised eyebrow (and really, that only makes Harry feel inclined to give it another go).  

“You could just _ask_ what I’m reading instead of acting as if it belongs to you, you know,” Harry retorts with a mild huff, sitting up and leaning back against the arm of the couch before attempting to swipe at the book. As Tom is standing, it works just about as well as expected (which, of course, is not well at all). “In any case, you’d better be careful with that. It’s Hermione’s.”

Both of Tom’s eyebrows raise now, but he offers no verbal response (the pair have already had more than their fair share of heated conversations surrounding the topic of muggleborns over the years, and Tom has long since learnt to refrain from bringing it up, especially during the Christmas season). “My, my, Harry. I do hope you aren’t reading any illicit literature. You certainly sound very nervous-- ah.” The corners of Tom’s lips quirk upwards wryly as he turns the book over in his hands and reads the title emblazoned across the front cover in golden lettering with a slight movement of his lips, which consequently sends Harry’s head careening into his hands with a soft groan. Before he can make any move to defend himself, however, Tom speaks up once more.

“Romeo and Juliet? Is this… A Muggle story? Tell me, why are you reading Muggle content when you’re attending a school that has a magnanimous library that is constantly available for you to peruse?”

“Well-- I dunno… I’d never read it before, so Hermione offered, and… It’s a little romantic, I suppose.”

“Romeo and Juliet were sixteen and thirteen-- not to mention that they killed themselves. They are not suitable role models for your love life, Harry.”

“So you _have_ heard of it,” Harry counters triumphantly, peeking out from his makeshift shield.

“I have.” The admission spills out after a beat, and Harry feels like snorting in amusement at the obvious discomfort that is painted across Tom’s features as he slowly sinks to the ground beside Harry (and really, the bespectacled boy wants to acknowledge the fact that there is more than enough room for the two of them on the leather couch, but is simultaneously very aware of the certain kind of closeness that comes from their current position). “It’s hardly strange. I have a feeling that every wizard brought up by Muggles possesses a _basic_ knowledge of Shakespeare, at the very least.”

“Something tells me that your knowledge isn’t exactly basic.”

“It extends far enough to know that none of the characters in this play present an example of a relationship that you should be looking for,” Tom sighs in a rather resignated fashion as he finally pushes the book back into Harry’s hands, though his expression is far from displeased.

After a beat, Harry takes the opportunity to venture into largely uncharted territory between the two of them-- teasing? Daring? Harry isn’t quite sure yet. “Maybe you should read it to me then,” is what he suggests with an all-too innocent stare. “I might pick up on any problematic features if I’m hearing it all from someone else.”

The deadpan stare that he subsequently fixes Harry with is more than enough to make the younger boy start laughing out loud.

“Are you really going to deny me of this? I have permanent sight impairment, you know.”

“You have _glasses_ , Harry, you’re not blind,” Tom sighs, though he doesn’t argue further before he’s holding a hand out expectantly. “Alright. Show me where you’re up to, then-- if your _sight_ will allow it.” The latter part of his reluctant demand is met with even more laughter from Harry, which only stops after a gentle flick to his earlobe.

With a rustle of fabric and a slight wince, brought on by a knot in his back, Harry straightens up, and turns the book until the pages separate and the covers fall and morph into a line. Only moments are spent excitedly flicking through the scenes before he has finally reached the page he’d been looking for (he’s read Romeo and Juliet before, of _course_ he has; by now it’s simply a matter of deciding which passage he wants to hear Tom read), and when it has been located, he passes the book down to his friend.

Tom spends a moment scanning the passage-- Romeo’s monologue, from the fifth act-- the only reaction to the scene being a silent raise of his eyebrows.

“O, give me thy hand.” He starts slowly, and takes the opportunity to pause after that first sentence to peel a hand away from the book and slide the limb down Harry’s arm until their fingers are intertwining and Harry’s heart is thumping so loudly in his ears that he’s almost worried that he won’t be able to hear Tom when he starts speaking again.

He can either read Harry’s worries on his expression, or simply wants to spend a moment in the small infinity of silence that the two of them have created, because the younger boy’s hearing has mostly been given back to him by the time Tom starts reading from the script again.

“One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; a grave? O no! A lantern, slaughter'd youth, for here lies Juliet,” Tom slows, glancing up from the book in favour of looking at Harry with such an intense gaze that he has to break the eye contact, almost as if in fear of such intimacy, “and her beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.  
  
“How oft when men are at the point of death have they been merry! Which their keepers call a lightning before death: O, how may I call this a lightning? O my love! My wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, and death's pale flag is not advanced there.” Another pause follows, during which Tom lifts Harry’s hand to his face and brushes the younger boy’s knuckles against his cheek. Harry tries to avoid making his resulting sharp intake of breath too noticeable.

“Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain... To sunder his that was thine enemy?”

He speaks as if he possesses an inept sort of empathy towards every one of Romeo’s emotions in his own heart, and every syllable that leaves Tom’s lips only serves to bring the script to life and leave Harry even more enamoured as the very words paint their own picture of sadness and loss and _pain_ in his head. “Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?”

“For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; and never from this palace of dim night depart again: here, here will I remain with worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here will I set up my everlasting rest, and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!” And here, he looks at Harry so desperately and _deeply_ that it makes the bespectacled boy think he’d be very happy to just stay like this forever, looking into Tom’s eyes with a small smile and a faint blush that has bloomed across his cheek like red roses in spring’s first light.

“Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love.”

Tom leans even closer towards Harry, now, lips brushing over his ear as he whispers a gentle, “Our poor Romeo is going to perish soon, if the potion he just swallowed has anything to say about it.”

Another beat passes. “O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss…”

Harry had been hoping that it would come, had almost been _wishing_ , but in no way had he actually been _expecting_ Tom to finally close the distance between them and meet Harry’s lips with his own. One of them inhales sharply-- Harry is sure it isn’t him, he’s all but forgotten how to breathe-- and even when the kiss ends, it is only followed by yet another. When Tom finally pulls away, it's only by a fraction, and he murmurs the final words against Harry’s mouth as if they're part of a sacred litany intended for his ears alone-- as if Harry’s lips themselves are a confession box, or a locked journal (one with the key tucked away inside Tom’s heart). “...I die.”

They’re silent for a long moment (Harry’s hand is tucked securely between their chests, feeling Tom’s steady heartbeat while the older boy runs a hand through his hair, down his jawline, across his neck--) before Harry finally speaks.

“... You know, I didn’t find any issues with the story at all.”

Tom’s resulting chuckle reverberates through both of their bodies before he finally leans back a little-- but only to cast a charming smile towards Harry. “I suppose this means that I’ll simply have to read it to you again, then; won’t I?”


End file.
